


Stoking the Flames

by LothrilZul



Series: The Age of Restoration [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Eventual Fluff, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-17 10:27:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11849661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LothrilZul/pseuds/LothrilZul
Summary: The tale of how the Dovahkiin met her husband.Set in Frostfall, 4E 201





	Stoking the Flames

**Author's Note:**

> Zinnia visits Riften for the third and definitely not the last time.

Zinnia really liked the atmosphere of Riften. It was her third time in the city, but for the first two occasions she didn’t stay long. She arrived the last afternoon and payed for a room in the Bee and the Barb. Tired from travelling the whole day, she slept until Magnus set. 

As she left the inn, she saw the smith passing by. She followed his movement until he disappeared behind the corner. So she missed shop hours.  _ Great _ , she thought. 

She occupied the smithy in the blacksmith’s absent and started to work at the anvil. She would make good use of a smelter too, but there wasn’t any. She was at the blink of some deeper understanding of metallurgy, so she intended to use the forge all night long, at least until she feels satisfied with her progress. She started with iron daggers to warm up. After the daggers cooled, she tucked them into a large sack. She intended to sell them the next morning. 

As she was heating the metal, her thoughts flied around. There was something charming about this town she couldn’t define. The cobblestone roads made her feel at home for some reason. She liked the wooden shingles of the roofs which she didn’t remember seeing anywhere else in Skyrim except for Whiterun, but these were rectangular, while those reminded her to dragon scales. She was not sure about the matter, though. She still has not seen couple of other towns yet. 

She also liked the calm yellow shade of the aspen trees. The forest lovingly surrounded the city, with several trees planted around inside the walls, engulfing everything in golden and brown leaves after setting them loose came fall.

But what she liked most in Riften was its busy marketplace. The circular area lined with a stone fence and a well in the middle, the stalls of various vendors were surrounding it. 

There was that oddly-named dunmer, (who seemed pretty kind compared to the other dark elves she encountered), who was selling just a little bit of everything. Though Zinnia never bought anything from him, he gladly bought the odd and ands she heaped up to his stall. She might pass a couple of the daggers she makes tonight to him too. Then there was the enervate nord trying to sell enough armour to leave Skyrim, after the rebellion broke out. Zinnia really hoped she will be on her way soon as she found her quite irritating. There was an argonian jeweler who made his own wares, but barely any customer visited his stall. Pity, he was quite a craftsmen. The last stall was filled with big, deep red potion bottles, apostrophed by the vendor as ‘Falmer Blood Elixir’. Zinnia heard a couple of things about alchemy, but no one ever mentioned any healing property of the falmer blood or any other parts of the wicked things. She was quite convinced that the man was trying to run a cover business for the Thieves Guild. Zinnia knew that the Guild was prominent in Riften, she even had a slight feeling where they hang around during the day. Her elven ears sometimes caught a distant, echoing sneeze or this time, a deep, persistent snore. She only noticed these nuances around the marketplace, which made her believe that the cistern under the well might be inhabited by more than skeevers. 

Another thing she liked in Riften that the smithy was conveniently close to both the city entrance and the market itself. This made honing her smithing skill and then selling her excess wares easier. This forge was a very good one, she did not lose much time tending the flames like at other forges. She wondered what was the secret of this blacksmith.

 

The night passed almost entirely, but she forced herself to continue after every piece she tucked into the sack. After the daggers she got bored and started to make studded bracers until she ran out of leather. She had to wait until morning to replenish her supplies. Until then, she might experience with amulets and rings. When Magnus painted the sky purple, she was almost out of every kind of ingot and gemstone she used for crafting. She just started to craft her last circlet today, when she saw the blacksmith approaching. There was something unusual about him, she couldn’t tell what. Last time she saw him, he was already working around this time, so Zinnia tried to hurry finishing the piece. When the smith come close enough to catch eye contact, she looked up and wiped her forehead. 

She looked into his eyes and initiated conversation, “Are you the blacksmith here?” She immediately realized how dumb she sound asking it from a hunk man wearing a leather apron. The man didn’t reply, so she continued, “I've never seen such a good forge, would you mind telling me how you keep its flames so hot?” At least this time she didn’t sound like an idiot.

She saw him earlier passing by, but she only noticed his horseshoe shaped mustache and that he has blonde hair. Now she had more time to observe the man. She realized what was odd about him; he didn’t wear any shirt under his apron, only his trousers. Frostfall was not a season to walk around half naked. The nords truly were cold resistant people. He had warm, deep brown eyes, not common among nords. He had four braids in his hair, two on each sides.  _ Why do they do these braids, _ she wondered, finding them fascinating. Moreso, she found the whole man pleasing her eyes, especially without any shirt.

He noticed her gaze, but he didn’t mind it. The blacksmith smiled and introduced himself, “I’m Balimund”. He sat down to the seat of the grindstone, facing the forge and its current user. “I’m quite proud of my forge. It consumes fire salts, a strange mineral that burns as hot as Red Mountain lava. That’s her secret.”

“That sounds really interesting,” she enthused. “Would you mind showing me how do you add it to the forge?” He slowly shook his head and the spark of disappointment showed in the dunmers pitch black eyes.

“That I would show you gladly,” he sighed, “but my supplies are running low and I only use them when I feel it is necessary. It is not yet.” Balimund watched her working on the circlet, his brown eyes reflecting the glowing embers, making his whole visage fiery. 

“Perhaps I can be of help”, she offered, because she always needed new assignments to take on. “I could fetch you some fire salts.” She already had three portions at home in stock, how much more he would need anyway?

“If you could bring me,” Balimund hesitated for a moment, deciding what amount to say, “ten doses of it, you would save my business.”

“Ten, you say? I’ll see what I can do.” Zinnia accepted the challenge. These minerals were rare but not unseen. If all else fails, she would buy the stocks of the alchemists all around Skyrim. Wealth was not her primary concern right now.


End file.
